


a new coat of paint

by TaFuilLiom



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-07-08 04:42:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19863670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaFuilLiom/pseuds/TaFuilLiom
Summary: She toys with the spirit level. Maggie sees the bubble jittering in the centre, silently, locked in its glass cage. She recalls Alex, suspended, sinking, in the tank. Silent. Trapped.She remembers the relief that surged through her when she heard, 'I love you, Maggie Sawyer'.





	a new coat of paint

**Author's Note:**

  * For [damndanvers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/damndanvers/gifts).



> Hi Lauren :) This is really simple so I hope it's okay for you :)

Clammy hands slide off the steering wheel with each bend in the road, the sweat making any kind of grip impossible. 

It’s why she takes it easy on the accelerator up in the hills, regardless of the fact traffic is non-existent. In the boiler room bullpen she was glad of the opportunity to escape out into the open, but now out in the gritty desert, she finds it isn’t as refreshing as she thought it would be. 

She scowls behind her sunglasses as her GPS announces that she continue on for several more miles. Even with the peaks and troughs of the hills, the horizon is a flat, spanning, golden nothingness with only the occasional rusted road sign to dictate where she’s going.

Bored with the low chattering debate of city politics, she flicks to another radio station, and the song lifts her spirits. She turns up the old classic, one that Alex selected on the jukebox on an early date, when flirting and touching and kissing was still a delicate dance, and they hadn’t yet spent a night together. She remembers the magic, the electricity between them, and the song makes her bear the hot car for a few more minutes. 

Eventually, grey blocks rise up from the flat line of the horizon, signalling that the address she had programmed into her GPS was correct after all. She had begun to doubt it as soon as she left the city limits, unsure if it would take the location of a secret government base. Apparently it did. 

She pulls up at the barrier, leans out of her window, and flashes her badge. The man in the security booth, who looks more like muscle stretched into a khaki uniform than anything resembling a DEO agent, stares back blankly. 

She drops the badge back into the passenger seat. “I’m here for Agent Danvers.”

He sniffs, checks out her dusty cruiser, and then goes back to his work. She thinks he might be typing or confirming something onto his screen, but after thirty seconds, she realises he’s simply ignoring her. 

“Agent Alexandra Danvers,” she stresses, “I’m here to see her.”

Still no reaction. 

She leans further out the window, trying not to grimace at the sweat beaded to her lower back. She imagines Alex’s reaction to this, would she be amused at the difficulty Maggie is facing, since she has no problem at all getting into the city base? 

She slides off her sunglasses, blinking at the brightness, but staring hard at the man. “Check your database. Magharita Sawyer, Detective with the NCPD.”

He raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t do anything else. Her temper short and frayed in the heat, rage builds in her stomach. He doesn’t check the database, simply sits further back in his seat, and keeps the barrier down. 

_ This guy in his stupid grey shed -  _

She clenches her teeth, seeing no other option than to pull out her final card. “Girlfriend of your superior officer. You wanna piss her off?”

Finally, he twitches at that. Without looking at her he presses a button on the keyboard. He reads, stoic, and then the waspy yellow and black striped barrier raises in front of her. She puts her foot down and doesn’t say another word. 

When she pulls up, the base doesn’t seem all that impressive. A few cubic grey buildings, several dust-caked army vehicles and a tall water tower don’t make much of an impact on her. 

It’s only when she gets inside and is instructed by Agent Demos to take two sets of stairs underground that she realises her first impressions were entirely incorrect. 

This desert base unlocks a whole new level of wonder in her. She remembers calling the city base  _ James Bond bad guy hide-out sick,  _ but this place makes it look like a tame, regular office block. High ceilings, glowing work consoles, and much more equipment on show than in the city base. She wanders past drilling agents, seeing their focus and precision. She gets a clearer image here of Alex as a younger recruit, spending those arduous hours day after day training to meet J’onn’s expectations. 

She follows the fleshy smacks and grunting of combat to a round training room. The bright lights focus on a single figure fighting off every blow, every attack. Maggie crosses her arms and leans against the wall, enjoying her girlfriend’s work, rooting for her regardless of the amount of attacks she fends off. 

Finally, Alex lunges at a large figure and tackles him, slamming them both back onto the mat. She stumbles up to stand, flinging back her hair and holding her flat palms out. Her shoulders heave as she tries to catch her breath, and then she helps the man stand from the floor. 

“Good,” she puffs, bracing her hands on her sides, addressing the sweating, panting gathering, “Really good. Much better. You guys are improving fast. If you continue at the rate you have these last three weeks, you won’t have a problem passing this elite squad training programme.” 

(Maggie wonders if Alex has spied her there and dropped the word  _ elite _ in for that reason). 

“Dismissed,” she says, offering them an exhausted smile. 

A dozen defeated-looking agents troop out past her, and she wrinkles her nose at the sight and smell of them. While the tunnels and caves are spared the aggressive heat wave above ground, their shiny foreheads and damp tank tops were signs they were not entirely spared from heated exertion. 

Alex collects coloured markers from the ground, still not greeting her. Maggie waits until most agents are a respectful distance away and out of earshot, and then wolfwhistles. 

Her girlfriend springs up in surprise, spinning towards her. “Hey.”

Pushing off the wall, Maggie makes her way up the steps to the mat. “Hi there.”

Alex clicks the coloured markers into a plastic holder, and then crosses the mat for smaller black ones. “You found this place.”

“Eventually, yeah.”

She watches her girlfriend work, collecting the markers and clicking them into a second holder. Then she sets them side by side, and lifts a towel from the edge, flinging it around her shoulders. She also uncaps a bottle of water and drains half its contents. 

She huffs out a breath, wiping spilled water with the back of her hand. “Did you watch the training session?” 

Deliberately swinging her hips, Maggie swaggers over. “Oh, I got every second of that last part.”

Just inches away, Alex steps back from her with a wince. “Wait, don’t touch me, I’m sweaty.”

Maggie glances over her shoulder and lowers her voice. “Not the first time I’ve touched you when you’re hot and sweaty, Danvers.”

Exasperated, Alex counter, “Really?” Then she drinks the rest of the water.

Maggie just tugs the ends of the towel around her neck and ignores the noise of protest in Alex’s throat as she presses their lips together. After a beat, Alex relaxes, kissing her back, opening her mouth just so. Maggie savours the breath of heat into the kiss. 

She leans away, seeing Alex’s eyes open, a little more hazey to the world. “See? That wasn’t so bad.”

One more taste of her lips, and then Alex reaches for the two holders. “How was your day?”

“Heat wave isn’t the only thing getting me hot under the collar.” Maggie follows after her as they make for the room’s exit, souring at the reminder of her hellish work schedule. “And not in a good way.”

Alex glances over her shoulder. “Yikes.”

“Yup.”

Maggie follows Alex to a storage room, filled with training equipment. The agent places the two sets of markets onto a shelf, and then grips the ends of the towel around her neck. She bits her lower lip, contemplating something as she exits the storage room. She locks the door, and leans a shoulder against it. 

“You know,” she says casually, quirking her eyebrow, “Maybe you just need to release all that tension.”

She delivers it straight, the only thing betraying her intentions being how she chews at her bottom lip. There’s the sheen of sweat on her brow, the taunt muscles moving as she backs away towards the locker rooms, the roaming skin visible with the cut lines of her tank- 

Suddenly, the underground base isn’t as cool and refreshing anymore.

~

By the time they make it back to Maggie’s apartment, they’ve had to contend with the boiling car for the twenty minute drive back to the city. The shimmering heat from the road had been like a physical indication of the simmering tension between them. Manners and patience is foregone as they navigate themselves inside and stumble around furniture, all just to keep kissing. 

Maggie bumps her thigh against the sofa and expects them to tumble onto it but they go further. With her eyes closed and Alex’s tongue hot against her own, her spatial awareness is scrambled. She knows they miss the coffee table, and thinks they might be heading for a wall. 

But Alex’s nimble fingers are working at the buttons on her shirt and she has Alex’s jeans on their way down her thighs and - 

They jolt, and break - 

_ Crash! _

Disorientated, Maggie trips back and catches herself against an armchair, watching in horror as her top shelf comes off the wall, clanks onto the second and together the two shelves drop to the floor, their contents smashing and crashing after. 

They were never particularly sturdy. In fact, each time she set any object on it, her movements had to be balanced, fearing that they would tip entirely.

Alex gapes, horrified at the scene; the soil spilling from broken ceramic pots, the toppled bonsai trees, the flaxen basket ajar littering photographs form college and academy over the floor and under the coffee table. Trinkets from her travels have rolled from the rest of the debris. 

“Maggie, I’m  _ so _ sorry,” Alex breathes, twisting to face her. She holds her hands up, curling them under her chin. 

Clearing her throat, Maggie steps forward. “No, it’s fine, it’s not like you did this on your own.” 

Alex looks down at the jeans around her thighs, seemingly unsure if she should tug them up or strip them off. She awkwardly inches the waist band back up around her hips, and shuffles in the direction of the kitchen. Maggie leaves her shirt open as she squats down, surveying the damage. She plays with a leaf, frowning at the state of the bonsai crumpled out of its broken pot. 

Together they brush, vacuum and trade sheepish smiles. They prop the shelves, flimsy and fractured, against the wall. 

Alex smacks the dirt from her hands. “Now my pubic bone isn’t the only casualty of sex in this apartment.”

Maggie’s eyes bug. At the very beginning of their relationship, while trying to straddle her girlfriend, she had once accidentally kneed her in the groin and ceased any amorous activity then and there. “It was one time!”

Alex grins, putting on her best mock purr as she pulls Maggie in by her open shirt. “Don’t worry baby, I’m experienced, I’ll guide you through it.” Then she jerks, pretending to shrivel from a blow between her legs. 

It earns her a pinch in the ribs, making her jerk again, and then they share a kiss. Later, they order food, and sit at her kitchen island to enjoy it. She leaves her shirt open, savouring even the minimal chill because of the heat wave - and the looks Alex tries to steal at her abs. 

She looks at the biodegradable bag propped at her door, a temporary grave for her lost bonsais. 

“Miss them?” Alex says. 

“It’s weird, I know,” Maggie sighs, propping her chin up and staring at the remains of their take out.

“No it’s not. They meant something to you. Now they’re mushed.”

Basking in the air con and each other’s company, Maggie dares to push just so at the boundaries of their relationship. “You know if we ever move in together, the one thing I will demand is a home for a bunch of those.”

Alex raises an eyebrow. “Well, it’s good I’ve got plenty of shelf-space in my place, then.”

They had shared unconventional first  _ I love yous _ , but for Maggie, moments like this are why she is glad they can finally express it. 

~

The heat wave sustains into the next week. Stress rattles through her frame with each step she takes. Part of her believes she shouldn’t even be leaving the precinct at all, as if she should keep working, keeping burning the candle at both ends, not stop until justice is something as tangible as a taste on her tongue. 

But she knows she can only work to her full capacity if she is well rested and fed, so she goes home. 

The elevator is sluggish to open, reflecting the rest of the city’s energy levels in the heat. The growl of an electric drill penetrates her temple as she strides towards her apartment, it gets louder. 

A realisation stops her in her tracks. 

The drill is in  _ her _ apartment. 

She tries the handle, her other hand going for her side arm. Her front door is unlocked. With a deep breath, she grips her gun and pushes inside - 

There stands Alex, drilling new brackets onto the wall. She finishes and lifts a wooden shelf onto the upper set. Then she uses a spirit level, and makes a pleased noise at her findings. Underneath, there is already a second shelf in place. 

Maggie shuts the door and she turns in surprise. 

“Hey, I couldn’t find the exact same style, these are a little thicker,” Alex rambles. She punches the corner of them, “Maybe that’s a good thing, huh? Sturdy.”

Without answering, Maggie rounds the couch to the coffee table. There’s new bonsais with their tags still on them. A broken ornament resides beside some glue not yet touched. Her photographs from college and the academy are neatly stacked in the dyed-peach flaxen basket, lid open for inspection. 

“Why are you doing this?” Maggie asks, checking the tag on one of the tiny trees. 

Alex lifts the spirit level and tips it back and forth, watching the bubble swim up and down. “I know you’ve been busy lately. I was off today, figured I’d fix it for you.”

Overwhelmed, Maggie clenches her fists, the sticky grim of the day’s work thick on her palms. The shelves are better quality than the originals, probably more expensive. She wants to ask how much they were, but doesn’t want to be rude.

“Thank you.” She shifts, eager to get into a shower and fresh clothes. She sees the sheen of sweat on Alex’s forehead. “Water?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

She gets them two glasses, and not retreating yet to the bathroom. She is drawn to Alex after seeing this task, wants to know why her girlfriend has taken it upon herself to perform an act of kindness like this. 

But the words are lost in the summer’s dream of a day. They sip the cool water, content in the quiet, staring at the new shelves as if they might provide conversation. 

Then finally, her girlfriends speaks. 

“You know I-” Alex grimaces and rubs at the back of her neck. “I hate it when you’re stressed. I feel helpless.”

“That’s my job,” Maggie returns, putting a hand on Alex’s knee, “Now you know how I feel when you go chasing after an alien three times your size,”

Alex gets up and walks to the new shelves, nodding as she goes. She considers, then places the spirit level on the lower shelf. “When I was little, my mom always bugged my dad about painting the garage.”

Maggie watches a bird dart across the window and back, faster than her reaction to Alex’s words. The heat has permeates her concentration, and it takes her a moment to sink down into the imagery; that garage in Midvale, where Alex had led Maggie inside to locate two surfboards. Their mission was abandoned for the kind of tomfoolery that comes with the first visit to a family home. 

Alex’s tone is solemn as it swings back around, clearing the warm fog. “They were always stuck in the lab or office or running after me, so he never got around to it.”

She toys with the spirit level. Maggie sees the bubble jittering in the centre, silently, locked in its glass cage. She recalls Alex, suspended, sinking, in the tank. Silent. Trapped. 

She remembers the relief that surged through her when she heard,  _ I love you, Maggie Sawyer. _

“What age were we talking?” she says, pulling away from the lure of the memory.

“Oh, like-” Alex stops, runs her fingertip around a groove in the new shelf, “Four or five.”

“Woah, a handful.”

Tension somewhat dissipates from her girlfriend’s frame. “Anyway, this was a running gag for me, you know? Mom would scowl and complain about the chipping emerald paint.” She dramatizes her words, and Maggie tries to imagine Eliza and Jeremiah like that; younger, in love. “He’d wink at me and pretend to be all irritated, but it just made me laugh.”

She pictures the shed again. It’s been painted since then, no longer emerald but slate grey. The same shade as the rusted security shed the soldier had been stationed in when he was ignoring her at the desert DEO base. She frowns as her brain makes these connections. The heat wave has fried the usual circuits and she is left with these bizarre chains of thoughts. 

“Then one day my mom got a call that nana had had a stroke. Real bad, course I didn’t know this til years later.” Alex heaves a ragged breath, as if moving up hill, or carrying the weight of something on her shoulders. “Anyway, one morning I got up and there was dad out painting the garage.”

This statement impacts Maggie one particle at a time, moving as if through glue in the air. She sees the tight lines of Alex’s shoulders as she clings to the new shelf, as she bows her head, as she reveals the twist in the story. 

“Mom came home from my aunt’s house and saw it, and she just started crying. And I couldn’t understand why?” Alex’s shoulders flex as she lets go of the shelf and throws up her hands, as if still confused almost two decades later. “Why wasn’t she happy? He’d finally painted it for her.”

And stillness. Maggie is stock still on the couch, the hot heat of the summer breathing down her neck. The sounds of the city fill the apartment in the absence of her immediate response. 

She has to sip her water, then clear her throat, to finally speak. “Why did he do it?”

Alex drops her head forward again. “He just did it cause he loved her.”

A metal grating jangles. Above her, just on the fire escape, Maggie’s upstairs neighbours and their two kids are playing. They bounce and bounce, childrens’ laughter peeling through the summer heat. 

Alex turns and looks at her and Maggie realises the sincerity of her words, the reason why she’s here in a tank top and a toolbelt, fixing what they’d broken together. Working in this heat wave.

The bubble in the spirit level is still now, no longer calling her back to that night. But she remembers that first time Alex breathed those words in the medical bay. 

“He did it cause he loved her, and he knew she was stressed, and she had a million things on her plate, he just wanted to take one off.” Alex licks her lips, looks away. “It wasn’t a big thing, maybe. But it meant something that he thought to do that without arguing about it. I don’t know.”

Maggie can see how hard it is for Alex to tap into that rosy past. That time before Kara, before Cadmus, Supergirl, everything. To go back to her childhood, when happiness was innocence and summer days and her father taking her for ice cream. 

But she has done it now, to link past and present. To go the long way around what she’s trying to say. Why she put up these shelves for Maggie, just like Jeremiah painted the shed for Eliza. 

“Anyway,” Alex manages, her voice strained as she tries to come back into the present, “I know you’ve been swamped at work. I know the heat is kinda driving the city nuts, and making you feel stretched and I just wanted to do this one thing for you. Is that okay?”

Before she finishes Maggie is on her feet. She side steps the coffee table and feels the sticky texture of Alex’s temples and jaw against her lips as she kisses and kisses her. “I love you.”

With a crooked smile, Alex leans back, “Just cause I put up some shelves?”

“Yes.” Maggie kisses her again, properly this time. Then she inspects her new shelves, the power drill propped on them. “You know, you’re kind of a lesbian stereotype here.”

Alex waves at herself. “Yeah. Toolbelt and everything.”

Maggie hooks onto the belt, causing Alex’s stomach muscles to jump. “Well as you’ve recently found out, I respond pretty well to things strapped around your hips.”

Alex huffs her exasperation as Maggie returns to the couch. She sits, curls her finger, gesturing her girlfriend over. The agent rolls her eyes, but unclips the belt around her waist.

The toolbelt clunks onto the carpet. She climbs down onto the sofa, slots herself between Maggie’s legs and kisses her in once movement. 

Perhaps the heat wave, Maggie figures, might not be so bad after all. 


End file.
